


Whispers in the Dark

by DarylDixonGrimes



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombies, M/M, Masturbation, don't look at me, yes i wrote a goddamn fanfic of a fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 13:02:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10640388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarylDixonGrimes/pseuds/DarylDixonGrimes
Summary: Rick's not the only one struggling to count the ceiling beams.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluetilo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetilo/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Warm Shadow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10239359) by [bluetilo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetilo/pseuds/bluetilo). 



> So, I recently discovered bluetilo's Rickyl fics, and I love them both so much. 
> 
> So this is a fic of a fic because yo dawg we heard you like fics. 
> 
> I'm also hoping that since this heavily relies on Blue's material, it drives my subscribers over there to read some thangs. We want to welcome this author into the Rickyl fam and encourage them to stay forever and never ever leave us. 
> 
> Anyway, if I did this right, there should be a link back to her work right above this notey thing. **Go read at least chapter one before you read this.**

Daryl had learned pretty early on in life that sleep could be a weapon. For the most part, he’d used it defensively. When his father had come home late, slamming the truck door and shuffling through the gravel driveway with steps reminiscent of the undead, sometimes just pretending he was asleep could save him from the man’s wrath.

This night though, it was saving him from something else.

Rick Grimes didn’t strike him as violent, which was strange since that was largely how he was used to viewing cops. For the most part, violence between Dixons and the police was part of the natural order of things, and the fault fell on both sides of that line at any given time. But something in Rick’s eyes had made Daryl get in his car despite knowing what he was, on leave or not.

After they’d made it to the docks, he had tried to walk way, he really had. Hadn’t even looked back no matter how much he’d wanted to. But the whole half mile he’d walked away from the ferry, he couldn’t stop thinking about waking up from his stupor to see Rick’s face over him. No one in his entire life had ever looked at him with that much concern, and to get it from a stranger had done something to him he couldn’t explain.

With every step, he’d realized he was walking farther from Rick and closer to the possibility that he’d never see him again. And that thought had tormented him far worse than the headache he was still trying to shake.

He’d turned back, making his way to the ferry and slipping on board. That in itself had been stupid. Getting caught skipping fare could have very well put him right in the path of a cop who wasn’t on leave and was a lot less kind than Rick.

His plan had been tentative when he’d climbed on board, and even that descriptor was probably giving it to much credit. He did know the woods on the other side of the river well. He hadn’t lied to Rick about that much. But he really hadn’t intended to show up at his house after dark, dripping wet.

Somewhere between sneaking on board and making it across, he had decided to find out which cabin belonged to Rick and then sleep up in a tree or in someone’s boat. Maybe by morning he would have had an actual idea of what he wanted to say to him. Or maybe he could have made their second meeting seem more like just another chance encounter.

But he had fallen in the river instead of disembarking properly. And his need to get somewhere warm and dry had become a lot more pressing than his need to not come off like some kind of prowling bandit. And so he’d found Rick’s yard and made it a point to be louder than he had to be in the hopes that Rick would a. discover him, b. invite him in, and c. not shoot him.

He’d somehow succeeded in all three, not so much lying as omitting the full truth when he explained his presence. And Rick hadn’t questioned any of it. Instead he’d put him in the bath, washed his clothes, and made him a sandwich. A bomb-ass sandwich too that he hadn’t even finished before he heard the other man coming and panicked.

Because after succeeding in being welcomed into Rick’s home-away-from-home, Daryl was going to actually have to talk to him. And his “plan” had never accounted for that. He needed more time to think. To think about the way Rick’s gaze was starting to make his nerves prickle and his body yearn.

So he’d abandoned the sandwich when he heard him coming, hauling ass to the couch and flopping onto his side. He’d regretted the haste of it all immediately. Skin and underwear still damp, the chill in the cabin clung to him. He could feel it everywhere, from his head to his nipples to his cock. Panic dug in deeper, reminding him that his briefs were nearly see-through in their current state and that a boner would be less than ideal if he should get one in that moment.

Which of course meant that he did get one. Or half of one anyway, fighting it off by trying to think of anything non-sexy he could until he heard Rick’s footsteps coming closer and focused his energy on trying to act like he really was asleep, forcing his facial muscles to relax and his breath deeper in and out of his lungs.

Rick’s feet stopped near the couch, his body casting a shadow over him. Daryl waited. Breathe in. Breathe out.

He had a small hope that maybe, just maybe, Rick would walk away quickly, fast enough that Daryl could imagine he hadn’t seen his half-hard cock. But Rick lingered, and where Daryl tried his best to keep his breaths deep, Rick’s seemed to be getting shallower and shallower by the moment.

Finally, when the stress of trying to stay calm threatened to overwhelm him, the younger man decided to switch tactics, stirring lightly in his sleep. It worked, Rick gasping quietly before tossing a blanket over him and heading to his bedroom.

The young man opened his eyes the moment he was gone, looking down at the blanket. Rick hadn’t even touched him when he laid it down, but he had been staring at him. That much was undeniable.

Daryl’s mind ran wild with possibilities. He knew when he was wanted, and he thought he’d seen a glimmer of it in Rick’s eyes, intermingling with that quiet kindness that had drawn him in to begin with. But even so, it had been easy enough to write it off as wishful thinking.

Rick staring at him opened up a new realm of possibilities, and he shifted onto his back, staring at the ceiling and trying to decipher why he had come to the cabin and what Rick wanted from him and what he should do about it.

He absentmindedly counted the beams while he tried to figure it out. It took him until five to get his brain to move on from the soft wrinkles at the corners of Rick’s piercing blue eyes.

Rick had been so kind. And maybe it was a betrayal of that kindness to think that he wanted anything more from Daryl. Maybe Rick was one of those people who got into police work because they genuinely wanted to make the world better. And to think that he even might want to let Daryl suck his dick even a little bit would be like questioning his nature.

Six.

The seventh beam held the light that Rick had left on when he retreated from the room. Daryl couldn’t stop himself from wondering if that had been a genuine oversight or an intentional gesture. Had he forgotten, too caught up in getting away before Daryl woke and found him peeping? Or had he done it so that Daryl wouldn’t wake up in a strange cabin and have to find his way around in the dark. Yet again, was he shitting all over Rick’s caring soul?

Eight.

No, Daryl knew lust and want. He knew what it looked like, burning in the eyes of a man or woman. And he had seen it in Rick’s eyes. He had. Unless the need to know Daryl was okay somehow looked the same. That was something the young man wasn’t used to in the slightest. How would he even know what that looked like to know if it looked any different?

Eight. No, nine.

God, and if Rick did want him. Daryl pulled up the mental images of Rick standing in his towel in the backyard, a gun pointed right at him. The man’s body had clearly suffered from his run-in with whatever criminal had given him the nasty scar on his side. But he was gorgeous just the same, and Daryl could clearly remember the patch of hair disappearing into the confines towel. He could almost imagine himself crawling under it, moonlight reflecting off the shape of his head bobbing up and down beneath the cloth.

By eleven, his hand was toying with the waistband of his briefs.

And he tried to reign himself back in, counting twelve and thirteen while he scolded himself for thinking of the other man that way yet again. But then the unmistakable sound of a moan leaked out from somewhere within Rick’s bedroom, and all hope was lost.

Daryl’s breath hitched. For a brief second, he tried to convince himself it was something else. Maybe Rick was having a nightmare. Maybe he just made noises in his sleep. Maybe it was some kind of animal that sounded vaguely like a human male jerking off.

But another moan shot those theories down. It was gruff and distinctly sexual, the kind of sound that told the young man that either Rick didn’t know how loud he actually was or he really did think Daryl was sound asleep. Either way, it shot straight through Daryl’s cock in the form of a throb traveling down his length.

His hand was inside of his underwear before he even realized he’d done it, and he had to force back his own sounds, knowing full well that Rick could and would hear them. His teeth found his bottom lip, biting down on it while he tugged, imagining Rick’s arm moving within the confines of his sweatpants.

He longed to see the whole thing, and he toyed briefly with the idea of going into Rick’s bedroom and letting the chips fall wherever. But even with the evidence now strongly supporting his theory that Rick wanted him, he couldn’t get himself to do it. Evidence or not, a man could still jerk himself off without it having to be about Daryl. And if he was wrong, he wanted to be wrong in the morning, when his clothes were dry and the chill of the night air had been driven away by sunshine.

He kept tugging, squeezing his palm down his erection in little bursts of pressure. The tiniest moan escaped his throat, so quiet that he barely heard it himself. And when the drags started to burn, he pulled his hand free and licked his palm, eagerly digging it back into his underwear and pulling saliva up and down his cock.

In the bedroom, Rick’s moans intensified. Like the thunder in an approaching storm, they got louder and closer together. And Daryl knew the other man had to be getting close. He rushed himself to get there too, the rapid ch-chh sounds of friction filling his ears.

“Shit,” he hissed quietly, giving himself a firm squeeze near the tip of his cock.

Flushed with the heat of his arousal, he kicked the blanket off his legs, digging his free hand into the couch cushions and squeezing hard.

The younger man came first despite Rick’s head start. Grabbing the blankets, he marked his completion by whispering Rick’s name into the fabric, his cock spilling cum into the confines of his damp underwear.

He had barely finished spurting when Rick’s final sound reached his ears, filling him with instant regret.

“Daryl,” the man said, sobbing it in ecstasy as he came. The younger man furrowed his brow, frowning at the idea that he very well could have ridden one out on the same cock currently creaming up the inside of Rick’s pants.

But there was no point in going in there now, now that they were both soft and boneless. He really was tired from the day he’d had, even more so now after cumming. Besides that, Rick was much older than him, and as much as that turned him on, he’d been with older men before enough to know that they weren’t sex machines even when they tried to be.

He’d missed his opportunity for the night, and he couldn’t rewind time and go in there as much as he wanted to. He would just have to wait for another opportunity.

He told himself it would come soon enough. And then so would Rick Grimes.  

But first he was going to pay him back for that sandwich. He pulled the blanket up over his shoulders and turned into the crook of the couch.


End file.
